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The Crooked Box
She was young and I was young And never a care had we Of all the worries of this world That we might never again be seen. We wandered one day on the paths Where few any longer tread Out to the home of an old man Twenty five years dead. He had been a brilliant scientist The papers did proclaim But like all men upon this world Time closed out his fame. Had he cares for mortal wealth If so, we scarce could tell His home was ancient, sere, and lean Its walls an empty shell. The green tiles on the roof decayed The garden plants were frayed The white wood walls grew thick with moss After he in his grave was laid. The first floor creaked, its wooden boards Had for decades in silence slept Toward rotting stairs, and up to heights My beating heart, it lept. Alice was her name, I think Though sanity implores Me not to think of the fact That I led her through that door. I berated her to follow me Up to the second floor And though I was terrified, my fright Pushed me on the more. We walked up those steps Into the attic, where the box we found It sat alone in deathly quiet The room empty all around. On the side were scrawled these numbers: {4,3,3} In that box, a thing so dark That it should never be. Alice I led to the box, and opened it up to see What lay in that unholy darkness Which drew both her and me. Alice and I looked inside, and in the darkness saw A horrifying crawling nightmare living inside that maw Centipedes and beetles, crawling inside of there Thousands of them swarming, never a thought to spare. I'm not sure why I did it, I thought it was funny then; Alice was leaning over the side, And I thought to push her in. She yelled at me and screamed, I picked the lid up off the floor I'm not sure what I said so long ago As I closed that door. When her voice died to silence With some concerned dread I opened up that box, Fearing to find her dead. My cruelty repaid, I can't describe the sight I ran home and told my parents That Alice disappeared that night. That was true, I still know Although I push it back Alice was gone away Vanished through some tracks Which lead through worlds unheard of Which fall through mad men's dreams Which even to the blind man The thought unsightly seems. The box I know assuredly Was no box at all That man who owned it had hastily Thought to close its call. He had hidden it away In the attic above his head That thing which to him Had been a source of dread. It could not be destroyed, that thing which Hell had born After a quarter century, I doubt it's even worn. A brilliant man he was, but the devil did beguile Even Doctor Faust away, with his cunning wiles. I know now how to open it After twenty five years I know that I should go there And face all of my fears. Eight times at most would be needed To find whatever is left. To find Alice there Where she has starved to death. But something taunts me in my mind, Something that will not leave What if I open up that box And my reason does deceive? Those things that crawl, they lived in there For who knows how long? The rain it falls on other plains, Could she be there alone? I wonder now, whether if I go And the darkness did conive What exactly will I find If it kept Alice alive? Category:Poetry Category:Science Category:Items/Objects